


the beaten and the damned

by JkWriter



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, Pre-Canon, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Richie Tozier-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 19:08:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JkWriter/pseuds/JkWriter
Summary: Richie wouldn't talk about life outside of what was theirs and not knowing what worse than anything going on in his head.





	the beaten and the damned

“Jesus Christ, at least tell me the other guy looks worst.” 

Richie hissed when Eddie pressed the alcohol-soaked cotton ball against his forehead. He tried his best to smile and said: “I could have gotten a couple more hits in.” which translated to “Dude, I was so fucked.” Eddie frowned at the response. For a second Richie was worried he was going to press for information, demand to know the truth about who had hurt him since the story about Bowers was more fabricated than the jokes he would tell about his mom, but Eddie didn’t press, instead he gently wiped the cotton ball along the edge of Richie’s eyebrow. Richie bit down onto his lip to keep from crying out at a particularly painful spot. Eddie frowned down at him. Richie looked away, towards the mirror behind Eddie. He didn’t look so bad without all of the blood covering his face. Sure, there was a nice sized gash through his eyebrow and bruises developing across his cheeks and under his eye, but Richie’s had worse.

Stan and Bill sat on Bill’s bed having a hushed conversation Richie couldn’t hear and it was driving him crazy. For the first few minutes he strained to hear what they were saying, capturing snippets that built no picture: “third time”, “concerned about”, and “math class”. They didn’t want Richie to hear what's being said, otherwise, they would be having their conversation while hovering over Richie and Eddie like two concerned mothers as they had when Eddie first started to wipe the blood away from his skin. Richie supposed he should feel lucky, two years ago he wouldn’t have even had this, two friends, nearby and another to put him back together, but another part of him yearned to be included in everything, even whispered conversations that were obviously about him. 

_ Maybe...Maybe they don’t think I can handle it? _ Richie hated to think his friends didn’t trust him with such a serious conversation but have he ever given them a reason to? He turned everything into a joke, every confession, every fear, and every moment of weakness was warped into something laughable because Richie hated the seriousness that came with those conversations and tried to steer them towards something more light-hearted but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of being serious. He just needed to show them. He didn’t whine, didn’t protest or make jokes about the exclusion, instead, he sat quietly, the perfect patient for Eddie to operate on. When asked to tilt he tilted, when asked to close his eyes he plunged himself into darkness and let his trust for the others keep him grounded, when Eddie took his arm Richie gritted his teeth and didn’t make a sound as the compression was wrapped around the sprain he was trying to forget, and when Eddie held out his hand and dropped two blue pills into Richie’s he took them with no questions asked. 

It wasn’t until his eyes grew heavy and the others helped him move towards the bed  _ (when did Stan and Bill stop talking?) _ that Richie realized he probably should have asked what he was taking but by the time the thought crossed his mind everything shut off. 

Eddie took a moment to tuck the blanket around Richie and ensure he was properly supported by the pillows they propped him up against before he joined Bill and Stan in the hallway, quietly closing the door behind him. The Benedryl was enough to keep Richie out well into the next morning but he didn’t want to risk waking his friend up so soon after finally seeing him resting. Bill and Stan stared at him expectantly. Eddie sighed and said, “He’s gonna have a nasty scar through his eyebrow. I still think it needs stitches but…”

“But Richie won’t go to the hospital,” Stan finished. Eddie nodded. “Man, I fucking hate this. Something’s obviously wrong, otherwise, he wouldn’t be showing up beaten black and blue like this every other week.” 

“Ye...Yeah, but what are we su...supposed to do? Richie won’t tell us anything.” 

Eddie glared at the wooden door separating him from Richie like it was the cause of all their problems. Beating up inanimate objects did nothing, barely even vented their frustrations as they had learned once before, and it wasn’t worth going after it but a piece of him who refused reason wanted to attack the door as though it would give them answers surrounding their questions on Richie. 

“Attacking Bill’s door won’t do anything,” Stan said, putting himself between the door and Eddie. Eddie crossed his arms and huffed. “I know you’re frustrated, Eddie, but we need to think about this logically instead of emotionally.”

“And how are we supposed to do that when we know someone’s out there hurting him?” 

“We don...don’t know for sure wh...what’s happening. Maybe we’re overthinking it. May...Maybe he’s telling the truth and it just being extra clumsy?” Bill said yet none of them believed it. Richie was clumsy, but not split lip clumsy. He’s fallen down stairs but never sprained his wrist before. It was too many things happening all at once and they were scared to think of what it might mean. Richie was...Richie. He was special to them. He was their smart-aleck, their trashmouth who couldn’t read the room and said what was on his mind without a care in the world about who else might be around to hear until earlier that day Bill never thought he’d be able to imagine him any differently. 

Opening the door to find Richie beaten and bloodied had terrified Bill half to death. He knew something was going on, they all saw Richie limping last week when he thought no one was looking, but there was something different with having Richie come to him for help in his time of need. Bill didn’t know what was worse, seeing Richie so broken or not knowing how to help. He brought him inside, snuck Richie past his parents and Georgie in the living room, called Eddie, who promised to bring his first-aid kit, and Stan. All of which led them to now, standing in the hallway, guarding the room where Richie was currently sleeping, and saying nothing because there was nothing they could say that might make a difference. Bill was half-tempted to make a poorly timed joke, much like the ones Richie would say in a time like this, but it wouldn’t land, not if Richie wasn’t the one saying it. 

“How long until your family notices something is up?” Stan asked, breaking the deafening silence. 

“Uh, parents ma...maybe a couple of hours? Ge...Georgie could come up a...an...anytime.” 

Georgie. How could Eddie have forgotten about Georgie? “Right. Georgie loves Richie,” Eddie stated and clasped his hands together. “And as much as I love seeing Georgie climb all over Richie, Richie needs his rest. Stan, Bill, I’m appointing you two official Georgie guards. Keep him distracted, don’t let him know Richie’s here until Richie wakes up on his own.” 

“Why us?”

“Because one of us needs to stay with Richie and neither of you knows how to properly put on a band-aid, much less take care of a sprained wrist and busted face. It just makes sense that I would be the one sitting in with Richie until he wakes up and wait, Stan, why are you smiling? What’s funny about this?” 

“Oh, nothing. Go watch over Richie, be sure he doesn’t choke in his sleep or something.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck.” Stan stepped out of the way and Eddie slipped back into his room. He could hear Bill and Stan on the other side of the door talking like they had been earlier on the bed, and what they were saying broke Eddie’s heart. 

_ “Those bruises aren’t new,” _ Stan said. Eddie could imagine him sitting against the wall next to the door, Bill opposite because Georgie would see Bill first when coming up the stairs. 

_ “I kn...kn...know,” _ Bill replied.  _ “Bu...bu...but Richie isn’t telling us anything. We can...can’t just accuse him of hiding things.”  _

“ _ We can’t just sit back and do nothing either. You saw him today, it’s never been this bad. Usually, he can hide it, or at least tries to, and he certainly never comes to us for help.”  _

Silence. And then,  _ “You think something ba...bad happened.”  _

_ “I think we need to be there for Richie because he’s not going to want our help, even when he needs it.” _

Eddie sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Richie. He was asleep, but not at peace. Something was haunting him even in his dreams. _ It wasn’t fair,  _ Eddie thought. Richie was the best of them, the only one who didn’t put himself first, and he was being hurt by something, by someone, and he didn’t even try to ask for help even when he needed it the most. Eddie reached out to run his hands through the knots in Richie’s hair. Worrying about this wouldn’t do them any good tonight, it was something they’d have to ask their friend in the morning. He settled himself on the bed, next to Richie. 

_ Tomorrow _ , he promised himself. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ive become obsessed with Stephen King again
> 
> come join my [discord](https://discord.gg/Pwah8sR), its only slightly a cult


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